


No One But Her

by TheAvengersMascot



Series: Hide Your Face So The World Will Never Find You [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Community: norsekink, F/M, Internalized racism, Loki Needs a Hug, Self-Hatred, Self-Loathing, Yes more of it, all the hugs, hypothetical harm done to an infant, many hugs, sad fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3336635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAvengersMascot/pseuds/TheAvengersMascot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She saw my loneliness</p><p>Shared in my emptiness</p><p>No one would listen</p><p>No one but her</p><p>Heard as the outcast hears</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One But Her

**Author's Note:**

> Again, there is no happy ending. This fic actually takes place before the previous one but is meant to be read second.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Loki is property of Marvel. Song lyrics in the summary belong to Charles Hart and Andrew Lloyd Webber.

"Here. These are for you."

Loki looks up from his work with a start. There's a petite nurse wearing purple scrubs standing before him with a paper cup of something that smells like coffee but a bit sweeter and a paper bag, containing what he can only guess. And she's holding them out to him.

"Pardon?"

The smile she's wearing falters a bit, but she shrugs and it recovers. "I bought these for you. It's a mocha and a slice of pecan pie from my favourite bakery. Someone said you had a sweet tooth."

He stares at the proffered treats, bewildered. He's faced many unfamiliar customs since he was sent back to Midgard but it has been a little while since it's happened, especially on the job.

"I don't understand," he admits, the honesty grating on him.

This time, she chuckles. "You looked like you were feeling down. I got you something to cheer you up. One of the orderlies said you're constantly raiding the vending machines for candy bars, so I got you something sweet."

"I see," he says, though he's not sure he does. Most of his coworkers among the custodial staff seldom seem interested in anyone else's state of mind, let alone are moved to try and improve upon them. And he saw them most every day. This woman he's never met, never spoken to, and she's presenting him with a gift just because she felt like he needed it, or so she claims.

He doesn't know what the proper response is but he tries to be safe. Digging into his pocket for some currency, he says, "Let me give you something."

"No, no. Not necessary. Just take them," she insists. The next moment, her blue-grey eyes widen with apprehension and she draws her hands back. "Unless, you're not allergic to nuts, are you? Damn, I didn't think of that."

"No, I'm not."

"Oh good," she replies, relieved. "Can't believe it didn't occur to me until just now. And I'm a nurse, I should know better."

"It's fine. I think."

"Well, here." She all but shoves the bag and cup into his hands. "I have to get back."

"Thank you," he says, though his confusion makes it sound more like a question.

"You're welcome." She turns away.

"Wait!"

She spins round again, the tail end of the plait in her brown hair flying out as she does.

"Who are you?"

"Emily. Usually I work on a different floor but I switched shifts with another nurse so I'm here today."

"Oh. Well, thank you, Emily."

She favours him with a warm smile before dashing off to wherever she's supposed to be. Loki's break is not for another half-hour but since his supervisor is not in today, he leaves early. He heads down to the cafeteria and finds the table furthest from any other patron and takes a seat. The mocha is still hot in the cup, its aroma more and more enticing the longer he smells it. He's learned to be cautions when it comes to such things however, after he discovered that coffee tastes nothing like as good as it smells. Opening the bag, he finds a square plastic container with the pie, a pastry dessert with some sort of white, fluffy topping.

For a moment all he can do is stare at his gifted food and wonder how she recognized his foul disposition. Then of course, he remembers. The All-Father took away his ability to lie, at least to be outright deceitful. There are many ways to skirt the truth and Loki knows them all but no strict falsehood can leave his lips. A facial expression can lie as well as words can, so if his lying words are denied him, then so must his dissembling be.

On the heels of his understanding comes the unwelcome reminder of why he was looking "down" as she put it. His punishment for attempting to rule Midgard was the same as his once-brother's: exile as a mortal. It wasn't long before he discovered his punishment had a few facets Thor's hadn't. Odin did him the kindness of placing a spell on him so no one would recognize him from the invasion, but that was as far as his mercy extended. Not only could he not lie, but his power, his seiðr, was gone.

For the past six months, he would lay awake at night for as long as he could searching for some remnant that perhaps his not-father missed. Night after night he sought for anything, even a scrap of his former power until his pitifully feeble mortal body succumbed to sleep. All that time it was an exercise in futility. Until last night. Last night he found it.

And how he wished he hadn't.

He didn't know what the tiny spark was that he felt, buried so deep the All-Father couldn't hope to find it, let alone remove it. This was something that was a part of him, not learned like what his mother taught him. This was his, and his alone. No one could touch it.

Loki latched onto the spark and coaxed it into a flame. Something like a cool breeze brushed over him, tingling like snowflakes fluttering down onto his skin. He understood only too late what was happening. He didn't have to open his eyes to know they were a deep scarlet, or hold a hand up to his face to know it, along with the rest of him, was blue. Jötun blue.

Ruthlessly, Loki smothered the flame, feeling warmth suffuse his flesh as his Aesir form returned. Curses flew from his mouth, denouncing both his fathers. He damned Laufey for his cowardice, for not having the courage to bash in the skull of his runtling child so it would never have the chance to know suffering. He damned Odin for sending him to the very place of his greatest defeat, for forcing him to live as one of the ants he sought to crush. For leaving him with just enough seiðr to see how truly monstrous he is.

So yes, he is feeling "down", if "down" means disgusted with every part of oneself and one's existence.

Despite feeling as though his own dour mood has poisoned the gift before him, Loki begins to partake. Manners ingrained in him since childhood will not let him throw away such an offer of hospitality and despite what he is already reduced to, he will not let himself fall down any farther than he must. If his manners are the only thing to elevate him above the mortals, then he will cling to them until his dying breath.

He takes a sip of the mocha, still anticipating the bitter tang of coffee, which he loathes, but is pleasantly surprised. There is a hint of the awful drink, but mixed with something else. Another sip tells him the other taste is chocolate, and he decides it's palatable. The pie is another matter entirely. It is so sweet, he must eat it in tiny portions so it's not overwhelming. By the time he finishes, he almost pities anyone who possesses the nut allergy Emily mentioned that they will never know the delight of such a thing.

It is only after he resumes his work that Loki realizes his mood has lifted. It comes crashing back down again at the same time but not with the same crushing force as before. _Odd, that_ , he thinks. He pays it little notice until the end of his work period. Glad to have another day of scrubbing floors and emptying trash bins over with, he keeps with his tradition of mentally cursing Odin at the end of every trying day for the restraints on his silver tongue. To survive on the mortal realm, one needed currency. To obtain currency the legal way — since Odin warned of dire consequences should he stoop any nefarious means — one required an occupation, a job. For that, one needed qualifications and without his ability to deceive, Loki could not invent a history for himself or fabricate proof of his education. This left him with few options for employment, all of which involved menial labour. The custodial job at the hospital is the least objectionable of the prospects he found but not by much.

As he leaves through the hospital's back entrance, he sees Emily walking to her vehicle. Loki hasn't earned enough money to purchase one for himself but since the hospital is only a ten minute walk from the tiny flat in which he lives and he has literally nowhere else to go, this doesn't bother him.

"Emily," he calls out.

She looks up, eyes casting around for the person calling her name. When they land on him, she smiles. "Hey. How's it going?"

"Well enough, I suppose." He catches up to her. "I wanted to thank you once more for the dessert."

"Oh, did you like it?" she asks with barely concealed hope.

"I did. Very much so." For once, the honesty doesn't hurt.

"Yay! I'm so glad to hear that."

"I wonder if perhaps you might share the name of the establishment at which you purchased them."

"Of course. It's called Baked Expectations. It's only one street over from here."

"I shall seek it out. Thank you."

She hesitates, her head tilting to the side as she ponders something. "Are you working the same shift tomorrow?"

"I am."

"Then how about I come find you on my break and I'll take you there. It's a tiny little place and it's easy to miss."

He agrees and they say their goodbyes. As he begins his walk home however, something troubles him. He feels there was a significance to their exchange that he's missed but lacking a proper frame of reference, he doesn't know what it is. The conversation with Emily is the most he's spoken to anyone since the interview for the custodian job. Until today, he has purposefully avoided in-depth discussions due to his forced honesty, so he has nothing to judge it by. By the time he reaches his building, he's decided he must be cautious with the woman until he understands the situation better.

Sleep eludes him again that night. Out of habit he wants to search for his power again but now that he know what little there is to find, the effort loses its appeal. He tosses about in bed for hours until he flings himself onto his back with a frustrated huff. His body is tired but his mind won't let him rest. He misses his seiðr. It feels as though there is a hole straight through the core of him. He longs to touch that little bit of power just to have a taste of what he used to be, even knowing its hateful outcome.

Another hour passes and the urge has become too strong to ignore. Loki knows he will find no rest until he tries again. So he does. He closes his eyes tight so not even the dimmest light may shine through and expose his Jötun self. Bending his thoughts inward, he searches for that hint of power again. He finds it faster now that he knows what he is seeking. This time, he manages to last a whole ten seconds in his other skin before changing back.

With the moment now passed, the familiar loathing comes rushing back over him with dizzying force. He can't believe he is reduced to this, to sufficing on a tiny scrap of seiðr, the only function of which is to turn him into the very thing he despises most. And he wants it. Needs it, even.

How pathetic.

~~~|~~~

If Emily has noticed his mood is even darker the next day than the one before, she makes no mention of it as she herds him out the doors and toward her car. She has not stopped speaking since she came to fetch him for their little excursion.

"And the cinnamon torte is orgasmically good. I bought one for a dinner party once and ended up eating it all myself," she says as she pulls the car into a spot behind a red brick building. "So not only did I have the stomach ache to end all stomach aches, but I had to drop another forty bucks on another dessert."

If there is a proper response to that, Loki has no clue as to what it might be. All he manages is a nod. Emily is not bothered, though the way she almost shoves him through the doors to the bakery might be a sign of irritation.

"Did you like the mocha?"

She's talked for so long without pausing for a reply that Loki almost misses the fact that she is asking a question. "Somewhat. I am not overly fond of coffee."

"Ah, you really do have a sweet tooth. Try a hot chocolate then. They make the best one here. I mean, tooth-rottingly good."

Her choice of adjective does nothing to entice him to try the drink (how could rotting teeth be anything but awful?) but he puts up no argument when she orders one for him. The display case is full of various desserts, mostly cakes and pies, none of which are familiar to him so he asks for a recommendation. She suggests he try the aforementioned cinnamon torte, a house specialty she tells him, and orders something called cheesecake for herself.

"Do you have places like this where you come from?" she asks abruptly once they are seated.

Loki does his best not to choke on his torte. "Where I come from," he repeats.

"Yeah. Going by your accent, I'd say London. Am I close?"

"Um, no."

"Darn. I'm usually good at this. So where are you from then?"

"Somewhere else," he says, averting his eyes.

"Which is..." she prompts.

"...I ...you've probably not heard of it."

She wrinkles her nose for a moment. "You're probably right. I only know the famous cities. You know, like London, Greenwich, Oxford. I have no idea what any of the smaller towns are."

Loki nods and takes a sip of his hot chocolate, which is far more wonderful than her description implied, so that he can hide his relieved expression behind his mug. This bakery is the only good thing he's found in six months of living on this backwater of a realm and he would hate to lose it by offending Emily and thereafter being forced to avoid it.

The conversation flows much more easily after that, with Loki having to do only minimal dancing around subjects he shouldn't speak of. Despite her sometimes overbearing nature, Emily's company is a welcome distraction from his tedious existence. He learns that like him, she has no family and few friends, work keeping her too busy for anything like a social life. She never says so in any explicit way, but Loki gets the sense from some of the things she says that Emily knows what it is to be an outsider. The two of them cannot but gravitate to each other and in the days and weeks that follow, they meet up at the bakery on their breaks as often as they can. When shift changes make this difficult, they make plans to meet outside of work. Before long, they are meeting every day. Loki even learns not to mind so much his inability to lie, finding it not as hard as he anticipated being honest with her. Loath as he is to admit it, there may be something of value on Midgard after all.

Nights are still a torment. In the darkness and solitude of the late hours, he finds he can't resist the urge to reach for his seiðr. Each night, he stays in his other form a little longer, needing just that much more exposure to his power each time. One day at the hospital, he overhears a discussion of something called addiction and he knows instantly he has one. As much as he might try to fight it, every night he loses the battle to reach for that scrap of power, even though he hates himself with the heat of all the fires of Muspelheim for needing it.

After that little bit of insight, Loki redoubles his efforts to resist. He wants to ignore it but the itch for his seiðr is ever more overwhelming the longer he tries. In the end the yearning wins, as it always does. Punctuating his frustration with a few vulgar curses, he casts off the bed covers and gets up. Turning on the light, he stands in front of the mirror. If he must touch his power, then he will force himself to look at what it does to him.

The transformation is nearly effortless now, and happens quickly. Cold prickles up his arms and legs, across his bare chest. He stands before the mirror with closed eyes for what might be hours or only minutes, his sense of time lost in the snarl of his tangled emotions. Fear churns his stomach, makes his knees tremble. When he can stand the anticipation no longer, he forces his eyes open.

A shuddering breath forces its way out through his mouth, past lips that are almost purple. He feels bile burning at the back of his throat but he won't change back, not yet. He hasn't served enough of his self-appointed punishment. He forces himself to endure the disgust as he examines the lines snaking across his body and stares into those blood-red eyes. He looks into the face of his nightmares and sees himself, fittingly enough. After all, he is responsible for his own downfall. He couldn't leave well enough alone when he learned Thor would be king. He couldn't leave it alone when the coronation was stopped. He just had to goad him on, didn't he? Had to go that little bit further, twisting the knife he so skillfully stuck in Thor's back until his brother dragged them off to Jötunheim, where the lie that was Loki Odinson died.

Now he is nothing. Unwanted by two different families, cast out by two different realms, stripped of everything he once was. Nothing.

He can stand it no longer. Loki turns himself back but it is too late. He dashes to the toilet and reaches it just in time. He retches up his stomach contents until all that comes out is a thin bile, until he is trembling and too exhausted to so much as crawl back to his bed. Resting his head on the cool tile floor, he can't help but laugh, the sound raw and strained. The once king of Asgard is curled around the toilet like a sot who couldn't hold his drink, too weak to even get to his knees.

Nothing indeed.

~~~|~~~

He calls the hospital the following morning and begs off work for the first time, having not slept at all after being sick. This pathetically frail mortal body takes far too long to recover from something as simple as a poor night's sleep and an bout of stomach upset. It is nearing midday when his buzzer rings. Only one person knows where he lives. That is, there is only one person who would seek him out where he lives. Without unwrapping the blanket wound around himself, he shuffles to the keypad to buzz Emily in without saying a word through the intercom. He unlocks the door so she can see herself in and drags himself back to the sofa. He can't even summon up enough energy for his precious manners today. (But really, what use do monsters have for manners?)

Emily bursts through the door, her arms full of bags and parcels. Loki watches her with an apathetic gaze.

"I called the hospital to talk to you and they said you were sick. I've come to be your personal nurse for the day."

He raises an eyebrow. "Is this not your day off? Surely you must have a better place to spend it."

"You are my better place. Now shut up and let me take care of you."

Loki knows better than to protest, nor does he have the energy to do so, so he merely listens as she explains herself. She tells him she has brought soup and crackers, rattles off the names of some medication he doesn't recognize, and finally, she has movies. She calls them "chick flicks", a designation which means little to him but he can't summon enough energy to be curious in his wretchedly weak condition. Emily puts the soup on the stove to warm and comes over to give him a "check-up". He doesn't have fever, which makes him laugh. (As if a frost giant could feel such a thing). He tells her he has no appetite and apologizes for her wasted effort with the soup.

"Uh, uh. You aren't getting off that easy," she tells him. "You need to eat, even if you don't feel hungry. Your body needs something to fight with."

"But-"

"Nope. Nurse's orders."

She puts on the first film and as it begins playing, she ladles him out a bowl of soup. Another day, he might have been embarrassed at the indignity of her spoon-feeding him like an invalid but today he doesn't care.

The "chick flick" is mildly entertaining. It is about two strangers, a man and a woman who are business competitors. Unbeknownst to either, they had exchanged anonymous missives through the computer and were quite taken with each other's persona in that world. In the end they both discovered the truth and set aside their differences. The second film is about a woman working at a train station, who fantasizes about travelling abroad with one of the train's passengers, a handsome man she sees every day. One day, he runs afoul of bandits who leave him to die on the tracks but the woman saves him. What follows is a series of miscommunications and misunderstandings, leading the man's family to believe the two of them are engaged to be married. The stories are somewhat trite and predictable, even for Loki who has had little exposure to them. They pass the time however, which Loki suspects is their purpose.

By the time they are starting on the third film, they are eating a delivered pizza Emily ordered, saying something about it representing all four food groups, which is apparently a desirable thing. The third film is markedly different. Like the others it depicts a love story, a staple of the "chick flick" she informs him, but it does not take place in the present. The players all speak with a more refined vocabulary that verges on poetry. When he comments on this, Emily explains it is based on a very old (hah!) work by a celebrated writer called Shakespeare. This work in particular is said to be the template of many modern day love stories. The tale features a young man and woman who fall in love immediately, as well as another man and woman who seem to loathe the very existence of each other. The young couple and their other friends conspire to make the battling pair fall in love. The path to bliss for both couples is interrupted by the meddling of another character. Don John, as he is called, is a little too familiar for Loki's comfort in how he cannot stand to see the others so happy. Not so long ago, it was Loki who could not bear knowing his brother was to receive yet another honour he did not deserve. He was the one conspiring to interfere. It is therefore of great relief to him when the villain disappears partway through the story. Despite the uncomfortable reminder of his own tendencies, this is the film Loki enjoys best.

Darkness has fallen by the time Emily starts the fourth film. She tells him she thinks the stage production is better than the film but since this is the one she can watch any time, it is her favourite. Loki has no opinion to offer, being familiar with neither.

It begins with dramatic music and a setting that is also not present-day Midgard. The characters seem to break into song at every opportunity. Loki asks why and is told this type of "chick flick" is called a musical. This new term is as meaningless as the other but he cannot ask more without revealing a dangerous level of ignorance of earth's culture. Forced to be silent, he gets caught up in the musical pieces, not especially brilliant compositions but gripping nonetheless. The girl at the center of the story has a lovely voice, clear and beautiful. He is so involved in her story that when the revelation comes, he is completely unprepared for it.

The pretty girl's mysterious and angelic teacher is in truth, a monster, a beast. Loki, already raw from the portrayal of Don John in the previous film, feels as though Mjolnir has struck him in the gut. His stomach churns once more, threatening to expel the single slice of pizza he was made to eat. He wants to flee, or failing that, tell Emily to turn off the film but his voice has deserted him and his legs have no feeling. He can only be grateful she is too swept up in the story to notice he is so vexed. Loki swallows thickly, putting all the energy he can muster into keeping his meal down. He can do little else but watch as the girl's affection is pulled between the monster and another man. At first she is torn between the two, but as the monster commits increasingly craven acts, she fears him. Hates him. In the end she rejects him entire, but not before leaving him with one torturous kiss as though to punish him with thoughts of what could never be.

When the film ends, Emily mistakes his ashen face for tiredness and helps him to bed. Loki is well past the point of exhaustion, but he still can't sleep, not with the monster's weeping face so fresh in mind.

The next morning, he decides to use another of his sick days. It's a work day for Emily, thankfully. He needs to be alone with his despair.

~~~|~~~

Loki finds himself ever more needful of Emily's company thereafter. Having been so brutally reminded that monsters do not deserve love, he is desperate to hold on to the little he's been given for as long as he can. He would think himself clingy but she doesn't seem to mind his attention. They even watch the film about the monster again, as it is one of her favourites. He is prepared the second time however, thus he notices something he missed on the first occasion. The girl still cares for the monster by the end. Even with the blood on his hands and the attempt he made on her beloved's life, she still cares for him.

Perhaps such a thing is possible. Perhaps a monster can be loved if he refrains from monstrous acts.

That night, when he is alone and once again in front of the mirror, he watches the change happen, forcing the disgust to the back of his mind. His pale white skin bleeds away into blue, green eyes to red. And so he looks. Apart from the colour change, his appearance is not so different. He still recognizes his face, his chin, his nose, the shape of his eyes. There is no disfiguration as with the monster of the story. He is as he has always been, just with a different colour palette.

Sleep eludes him again afterwards, but for an entirely different reason. He wonders what Emily would think of his other form. Would it frighten or repel her? Or would she look past it as the girl in the story did? In the story it was only the acts of the monster that turned her away, not his appearance. Goodness knows Loki's past is drenched with blood enough to drown in but his present is not. He has not harmed, nor felt the desire to harm anyone but Odin since his banishment. There is no need for Emily to know of his unsavoury history, not when he is in every way that matters a different person than he was then. He is merely a humble custodian now, one who just happens to turn his flesh blue when the mood strikes him.

Loki berates himself for even entertaining the notion. Of course, she would be put off by his true form. He himself could not stand to look on it at the beginning, and he already knew what he was. Why give the idea any consideration when it will surely end in disaster? Why is he contemplating doing the one thing that is sure to chase away the only good thing in his life? Emily doesn't have to know the truth. It has nothing to do with their relationship. They are happy together as they are, and he should not strive to change that.

But he can't let it go.

He knows he could spend the rest of his days avoiding the issue but a part of him doesn't want to. That same part wants to believe she will accept him — all of him. After all, she is kind, compassionate, and devotes her life to the well-being of others. Such a woman would not be bothered by outward appearances because she sees the good in people, even him. (Though he wonders if the good she sees in him is just a product of her own wishful thinking.) And Midgard's people have long since forgotten their own history with Jötunheim. She has no reason to fear what she has no knowledge of. Either way, Loki must know.

Every night when he looks at his Jötun self, he imagines telling her. He stutters and stumbles over an explanation until he feels he has it right. Once he has the perfect words, he chooses a day to show Emily the truth.

As the day looms closer, a kernel of doubt nestles in the back of his mind. _It won't work_ , the doubt whispers. _You are not destined for happiness. You will lose her and it will be no one's fault but your own_. Loki shoves the doubt away but he never manages to rid himself entirely of it.

It's still hovering there as he welcomes Emily into his flat. It still murmurs in his ear as he begins his explanation. The whisper becomes a scream as he shifts into his true form.

Too late does he understand the scream was not his, but hers.

**Author's Note:**

> (This was supposed to be short. I don't know what happened.)
> 
> Please let me know what you think. You can also come say Hi to me on tumblr at [ theclassicblunders](http://theclassicblunders.tumblr.com).


End file.
